Freedom
by OzGeek
Summary: Her father found out and now he is trying to kill her: Ziva's in trouble. Mainly Ziva and McGee, even hints of McGiva towards the end. Thanks to Smackalicious for the speedy betaing. Now complete.
1. Some people just don't like hospitals

Chapter 1 : Some people are just not good in hospitals

Memories flashed by: a routine tip on a cold case, a familiar face in the crowd, a single shot, a searing pain in her shoulder. Then McGee's answering shots, his concerned face filling her vision, his American drawl. "You okay, Ziva?" No, she wasn't. Panic was surging through her - they had been set up. No - she had been set up. McGee may have scared him off, but the man with the dark brooding eyes and the heavy beard was not finished with her. Not by a long shot.

Slowly, Ziva became aware of a familiar smell - hospital. There was a tightness in her shoulder where pain had previously resided. She reasoned the single drip line to her arm probably supplied only fluids, or maybe painkillers. An internal inventory revealed no major injuries apart from the shoulder, just a few bumps and bruises. Her body was mended; all it needed now was time to heal. It could heal on its own time. Right now, she had places to be.

Someone was moving around her almost silently. Through feathered eyelashes she found her - the nurse. She was petite for one in her occupation - shorter than Ziva, slightly built and sporting short dark hair. Ziva watched as the she slipped out the door, closing it soundlessly behind her.

There was another sound near her - deep breathing. She turned her head slowly, peering carefully through her lashes again. Her eyes came to rest on one special agent Timothy McGee sound asleep in the chair next to the bed. She frowned; this was a complication she did not need.

Opening her eyes fully, she assessed the situation. McGee was clearly fast asleep, his head slumped forward, hands resting limply on the open book in his lap in their natural cupped position, his fingers twitching restlessly. He rocked gently on each breath. Unfortunately, he was tilting forward so far that he was in danger of falling out of the chair. It would be better for both of them if he stayed asleep.

She removed the drip from her arm and stemmed the flow for a moment. Then silently, she slithered off the bed to crouch at his side. Placing one arm upon his warm, sleep sodden body and the other behind his slightly damp head, she fought to overcome the inertia of his mass. Once she built up momentum, she was able to swing him from a forward slump to a more secure position leaning back against the wall. His lower jaw sagged and the ergonomics of the new position introduced a low rumbling snore. She released her grip and evaluated her chances. He must be exhausted. Good - the less he knew, the better. The snore was helpful too - she could monitor him even when he was out of eyesight.

A small smile played over her lips. NCIS' poor record for guarding people would not be challenged today.

She padded around the room to a small cupboard where she found her cargo pants. Gently resting the door closed, she flicked on the light and held up the pants. It had been a long time since she had needed to use these pockets. With a sigh, she started digging out her equipment, keenly aware of McGee's every sound in the other room.

Ten minutes later, she was staring at a new woman in the mirror. Her long hair was cropped above the shoulders, accentuating her natural curl. The resulting halo was dyed a burgundy red colour. Experience had taught her she could imitate a vaguely dark Scot look, so long as she kept her mouth shut. She collected the excess hair in one plastic bag, threw some money and her survival kit in another and flicked off the bathroom light.

McGee was still snoring obliviously when she re-entered the room, though his head had lolled to one side. She gave him a resigned, tight-lipped smile and carefully slid his gun from its holster. Feeling its comforting weight in her hands, she hit the button for the nurse and staked out the door.

The nurse went down without uttering a sound and in the excitement of the moment, Ziva nearly snapped her neck. Some habits were hard to break. Instead, she lowered the smaller woman to the ground, stripped off her white clothing and transformed into the nurse of Tony's dreams: The shoes were a bit tight, the dress was way too short, but it would do for now.

"Phew." She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the room went silent. Her head spun round to see McGee blearily trying to get her into focus.

"Ziva," he slurred groggily.

She approached him quickly, tugging at the hemline of the dress. "I am truly sorry you had to see me like this." And she struck out at his jaw sending him sprawling unconscious on the floor.

Quickly, she grabbed the plastic bags, dumped the gun in one and ran for the door just as the guard she knew would be stationed outside was coming in to check on the noise.

"Not pretty," she mumbled to him, avoiding eye contact and holding up the two plastic bags.

He winced and withdrew, letting her pass, averting his eyes from her and her upheld packages.

Ziva smiled - no one ever checks the nurse.

Ziva strode purposely through the late afternoon streets, hiking a good few miles before she settled on a trash can to dump her residual hair. A few more blocks and she found what she had been seeking - a charity clothing store. She scanned the racks and picked out a vaguely Scottish patterned skirt, white long sleeved top, red cardigan and some flat shoes. As she approached the counter she saw the piece de resistance: a large handbag in which to stash her essentials. McGee would have been pleased. Once he forgave her for dislocating his jaw.

She deposited the nurse's outfit in the next trash bin on her route. Night was falling fast; it was time she headed for the one place someone could tell her what was going on.


	2. Fantasies and Reality

Chapter 2: Fantasies and reality.

McGee awoke to the rather enticing view of a pair of lace-encased bosoms. He closed his eyes, reset his optical sensors, and tried again. They were still there, bobbing inches from his face. Even better, somebody was straddling him; there were legs gripping either side of his body and deep warmth across his chest. His eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating in anticipation; whatever had happened to him, it couldn't be all that bad.

Trying to attract the attention of the owner of the breasts turned out to be a mistake. The moment he moved his jaw, an excruciating pain rocketed through his face and a groan was forcibly propelled from the back of his throat out into the room.

The breasts slid out of range, the mysterious woman dismounted, and a small, delicate face moved into his eye line. "Don't try to speak; she dislocated your jaw."

McGee attempted to speak. What was meant to sound like "Who?" came out more like "Hurh?"

"That woman. Officer David. I think I've got it back in place now. The doctor's on his way." She rubbed her neck absently.

Ziva had done this to him? He tried to squeeze the memories out. He had been sitting next to Ziva in the hospital after her surgery, trying to read that new detective novel, but a late night of writing followed by an early morning call out had made him so tired the words kept sliding out of focus. Then there was the dream - the one with Ziva in a tight nurse's uniform. He was beginning to worry about his subconscious: first Kate in a leather outfit complete with whip, then Ziva, and now some woman in her underwear telling him she'd fixed his jaw.

The woman stood to her full height, which admittedly wasn't much of an effort, as the door flew open and medical staff rushed in.

* * *

Ziva surveyed the imposing barb-wire topped walls of the building Mossad called home. The place would be empty by now. She made for the corner security camera. The weather shields encircling it had always been a little dodgy and it was not unknown for them to droop across the lens. Slowly she bent a flap over the optics. When she was sure the picture was obscured, she crawled for the wall and climbed it in absolute silence, cursing both skirt and handbag and wondering what "normal" women did when they were forced to scale walls.

In no time she was slithering her way across the roof to the region above Michael's office. Carefully sliding the tiles to one side, she lowered herself into the roof cavity, replacing the tiles behind her. Her torch led her to the root of Michael's light fixture, where she drilled a small hole and inserted her fish-eye lens. This would be her sanctuary for the night.

* * *

Ziva awoke early, not wanting the sounds of her own raucous snoring to alert anyone to her presence. She knew an operation was her only hope, but she had never found any surgeon she was willing to trust to perform the required work.

It was a full hour before she heard voices in Michael's office. She peered in and almost gasped in surprise. Tony.

Michael was handing Tony a file. "This is all you need to know," he said. "The director has ordered the agency to pursue her."

"He'd use his resources to settle a family score?"

Michael smiled. "It is not quite so simplistic; she was Ari's supervisor. Even in the United States, a supervisor killing her subordinate is frowned upon."

"Great," Tony breathed.

Michael allowed his phone to ring once before snatching it and holding it to his ear. "What?"

There was a short pause as something loud and guttural transpired in Hebrew. Michael's eyes roamed to Tony's face and stalled there. He muttered something more into the phone and racked the handpiece. "I will only be a moment."

The moment Ziva heard the door click shut, she withdrew the eyepiece and placed her mouth to the hole. "Tony," she whispered hoarsely.

Tony's head snapped up. "Ziva?"

"Shh, Michael does not know I am here. I am in the ceiling."

"Your father has put out a contract on you."

"So I heard. I recognized the man they sent. Michael is meeting with him as we speak. I will take care of it."

"Ziva," Tony whispered urgently.

"What?"

"Are you still wearing the nurse's uniform?"

"No!" Tony smirked at her exasperation. "Apologize to McGee for me," she said, deftly closing her access hole.

* * *

Ziva was waiting in an alley a few meters from his usual mid-morning coffee haunt. He never saw her coming.

Her mind whirled as she slid his body behind a dumpster: this would not stop here. Dropping the body unceremoniously to the ground, she took the only decision left to her; it was time to put her backup plan into motion. At the first public phone box, she made an international call, uttered a single word, and hung up.


	3. With friends like these

Chapter 3 – With friends like these

"Tell me you didn't drive here," Tony said incredulously as McGee stepped out of the elevator.

McGee shook his head carefully. He sported a large white bandage which wound its way under his chin and over his head. His jaw was dark blue in colour and swollen almost to the point of the comedic. In his left hand, he held an icepack to the major site of the swelling. Tony had a flashback to the bizarre creatures of Spy Kids but wisely decided not to mention it.

"McGee!" Abby cried, launching herself from Tony's desk. McGee held up his right hand defensively as she pounded towards him; he couldn't take a bone jarring hit today. She came to a halt a few inches from him an examined his injuries. "How do you eat?"

"Protein supplement," he mumbled, holding up a selection of satchels.

"That sounds appetizing."

He frowned miserably. "I've been craving a steak since I woke up this morning."

"Are you okay to work?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

McGee nodded his head with slow determination and eased himself into his chair.

Gibbs pursed his lips then gave him a lopsided smile. "Okay then, DiNozzo. Fill him in."

"As far as we can tell, Officer David overcame you, knocked out the nurse, stole her uniform and then strolled out of the hospital. Then she hid out in the ceiling at Mossad to spy on them. I talked to her there this morning when I went over to compare with notes with her old mate Michael. Following so far?"

But McGee wasn't listening; he was entranced by a vision.

"McGee," Tony broke into a grin, "you've been holding out on me! You saw Ziva in that nurse's uniform? C'mon, Probie, spill. I need all the details."

There was a glint in McGee's eyes as he shook his head sadly and indicated his swollen jaw.

"Here," Tony grabbed a notebook and pencil. "Draw me a sketch. Make sure you get all the dimensions perfect."

"DiNozzo!"

"Right, Boss." Tony returned to his chair meekly.

"Where was I..." He fumbled about for the end of his story. "Oh, yes. Ziva's father thinks she killed Ari and he's basically put out a contract on her. She said she would take care of it."

"How can I help, Boss?" The low murmur was difficult to decipher, but everyone knew what he meant.

Gibbs slammed down the phone. "For a start, you can get down to Ducky and see if you can ID the John Doe they just brought in. He matches your description of Ziva's shooter and he seems to bear Ziva's signature."

* * *

"Good Lord, Timothy," Ducky exclaimed as McGee walked in the door. "Shouldn't you be home or in the hospital?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled thickly. "Gibbs said you had a John Doe?"

"A what?" Ducky said with exaggerated diction, squinting as though it would clarify the sound.

"The body," McGee tried again.

"I think he's here to identify the John Doe, sir," Jimmy suggested helpfully. McGee rolled his eyes in relief.

"Ah, yes, the body." Ducky chuckled merrily, wandering over to the drawers. "He's only just arrived. Professional kill; I estimate it took less than a second for death to occur."

He pulled out the drawer, uncovered the body and looked expectantly at McGee's eyes for signs of recognition.

McGee stared at the corpse's expression, swallowing hard. There was no doubt he was the man who had shot at Ziva yesterday, but the frozen look of terror on his face, which he knew had only moments to develop, caused something large and heavy to drop in his stomach.

"I wouldn't want to be on the end of Ziva's wrath," Ducky commented casually. Then he caught sight of McGee's face and his tone changed to a more consolatory one. "If she had meant to kill you, Timothy, you would be lying next to him."

McGee's horrified eyes shifted from the corpse to Ducky. He never wanted to be alone with her again. "It's him," he managed finally, relieved to see Ducky return the body to its tomb.

* * *

McGee felt the drool flood his mouth as he watched Tony savouring his long overstuffed roll. His entire face ached but it wasn't enough to distract him from the constant hunger pangs competing for his attention. It was nearly 2 PM, more than 24 hours since he had eaten a decent meal. He glanced down at the unappetising protein shake in front of him, willing it to transform into a lean, juicy red steak.

Tony looked up, grinned at him and sank his teeth in again, this time a whole lot more slowly.

"McGee!"

McGee looked up at Abby with hopelessness in his sole.

"I've got a present that's going to rock your world."

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

"Really," she assured him. She held her Caff-Pow! cup out for him.

His shoulders slumped. "I'm not really in the mood for Caff-Pow!, Abbs," he said morbidly.

"Do not judge a beverage by its container," Abby chastised. "Smell." She slid out the straw and popped the top so he could get a good whiff of the thick brown liquid.

He shot her a quizzical look and leant in. His eyes opened wide and he took in a deep breath of the aroma. He stared at her in amazement for a moment then grabbed the container from her, rammed on the lid, punched in the straw and started suckling like a newborn, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes in ecstasy.

"I'll have what he's having," Tony said, watching from the sidelines.

Abby smiled. "It's steak, Tony. Blender liquefied steak with lots and lot of water."

McGee drained the container and opened his eyes, a look of absolute bliss plastered over his face.

"Some of my country cousins are not really into oral hygiene, so by the time they are in their twenties, most of the family has to have one of these on hand," she explained. "I keep this one in my lab."

McGee feigned interest but he was clearly just enjoying his first sated experience since Ziva took out his jaw.

* * *

Tony looked across at McGee dozing in his chair, his lips tight in concern. Although he had worked diligently in silence and obvious discomfort, McGee had been fading ever since he ingested Abby's wonder broth.

In truth, there was nothing much left for them to do. The director had stripped the case from them and was currently holed up in MTAC. They were left with nothing more than a few long shots to follow up.

"Take him home, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly.

Tony glanced over to his boss and nodded. "He should never have come in," he observed.

"Gee, I wonder where he got that from?"

"C'mon, Probie." Tony gently shook McGee awake. "I'm taking you home."

McGee started to protest, but stalled when he met Tony's steely gaze.

He appealed to Gibbs, who gave him a knowing look. "You can't do anymore today," Gibbs assured him. "Get some sleep and try again tomorrow."

McGee blinked in exhausted defeat, collected Abby's blender, and followed Tony out the door without protest.


	4. A New beginning

Chapter 4 - A new beginning

McGee shifted the blender in his arms, struggling to insert the key in his lock. His jaw still throbbed, but now his hands also ached from Abby's impromptu sign lesson. It had been a frustrating time for both of them as he attempted to imitate her lightning fast actions. Apparently Abby spoke at the same speed regardless of language.

He had been relying on over-the-counter medication all day to dull the pain because prescribed painkillers had a tendency to knock him out, but now that he was home, he was keen to take a dose, or two, of the real thing to get him through the night. The hunger pangs had returned, rumbling like thunder through his stomach, but he was far too tired, sore and miserable to even contemplate cooking, so his body would just have to put up with a protein shake for dinner.

As the door swung open, the smell of cooking food froze him in his tracks. His brain tried to get around the incongruous picture of a short red haired female intruder in a vaguely Scottish outfit cooking dinner in his modest kitchen. She turned and her face set off a spark of recognition closely followed by surging waves of anger. Fear lapped as his feet. Once the initial onslaught of emotions receded, he tried to reconcile the newly revealed picture: a Mossad assassin with crazy ninja skills cooking dinner for him like a dutiful wife as he returned from a hard day's work.

"You shouldn't be here," he mumbled sullenly, closing the door firmly behind him.

"I had nowhere else to go," she explained, turning her attention to a pot whose contents were threatening to boil over. "Tony's house is under surveillance by my people, who think we are having an affair, and every terrorist in the known world seems to have Gibbs' home address and phone number."

"What about Abby?"

She turned to face him again and he could see the moisture in her eyes. "I wanted to see how you were," she said quietly. Suddenly she looked delicate and frail; no longer a trained killer, but a young woman, scared and alone. McGee felt an almost overwhelming urge to protect her, laughable considering her training and his current physical condition.

"I could use a gun," he suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, sorry," she sniffed a little. "I have it with me. It's in the handbag." She paused, acutely aware of the irony. "Don't," she warned good naturedly as the shadow of a smile passed over his face, "I'm incontinent."

"Incognito?"

"That, too."

McGee placed the blender gently on the counter and began searching Ziva's enormous bag for his gun. Digging through women's handbags was not something he did habitually and after encountering the terrifying assortment of malicious objects in Ziva's, he was unlikely to ever do so again.

"I hoped you would like some of my famous casserole."

Tucking his gun back into its holster, McGee tapped the blender lightly.

"Ahh, so I will process yours, yes?"

He waited expectantly, his expression suggesting she should try again.

"Right. Processed casserole for two."

He nodded curtly and took a seat.

* * *

"McGee," Ziva started uncertainly as she washed up the two cups and two straws that constituted the dinner crockery, "you have no couch and no spare bed."

"I know," he muttered through strained lips.

"I was sort of hoping I could stay here tonight."

"You have three choices," he mumbled pragmatically, "leave, sleep in the bed or sleep on the floor. There is no way I am sleeping on that floor with this jaw."

Ziva hesitated, weighing up her options. "And you would be a gentleman?"

McGee was incredulous. Although she might leave some forensic evidence, Ziva could kill him in a heartbeat, possibly even in her sleep. He held up his hands in surrender.

Ziva smiled. "It will drive Tony crazy!"

* * *

Ziva lay in bed, tense and wide awake, but it was not McGee, lying almost comatose next to her, having finally taken his prescribed painkillers, who occupied her thoughts. She was impatient for news from the front; news that would probably only come tomorrow, maybe later.

McGee grunted in his sleep and rolled laboriously towards her, throwing a warm arm across her stomach. His head nestled comfortably against her pillow and he seemed to smile about something in his dreams. She sighed contently as he settled back into the rhythm of sleep. For the first time in days, she did not feel completely isolated. Granted, if someone did break in at that instant, the role of knight in shining armour would be hers, but she found his presence comforting. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep - time would move faster if she got some sleep. Lulled by McGee's sloppy snoring, she drifted off.

* * *

Ziva snorted awake. It was early morning but not too early. If everything had worked as planned, then maybe, just maybe, she would be free. She stared at the screen hanging on the wall in McGee's bedroom, debating whether she really wanted to know right now. If she waited, she could pretend that it had all worked, regardless of reality.

She heaved a single resolute sigh. Leaning carefully over McGee's slumbering form, she plucked the remote from the bedside table and flicked on the TV. Riotous images sprawled across the screen - soldiers yelling, guns firing, tanks lumbering across the lawn that had once been her childhood playground. She smiled grimly.

The by-line scrolling across the bottom of the screen told her all she wanted to know. "This is getting to be a habit," she muttered to herself. An image of her father flashed across the screen, and then an image of his successor. "Shalom, father."

Now there was a new regime, a new family in charge and, more importantly, new vendettas to occupy everyone's time. An unexpected sob escaped her and suddenly McGee was sitting up at her side.

"Ziva?"

Unable to speak, she covered her face.

McGee's eyes flitted between her and the television until he finally understood. Then he held her gently as she wept.


End file.
